Chapter 200 - A Desperate Gamble (Patreon)

In general, defensive formations were limited in that they had no eyes to see and no brain to make sophisticated judgments. At best, they could react to being directly damaged, or maintain an outer shell of mana and aura keyed to wait for a specific stimulus. Once triggered, formations were further limited by the capabilities of the creator. The possible amount of programmable reactions depended on how many concurrent thought streams the original intent was split into; because once intent is loaded into a formation, it can only be overwritten, not added upon.

This weakness was the reason Morothin’s warding formations had failed to protect the city from the thrown mountain. The protective mana and aura they projected were programmed with the intent to reject beast mana, Graymin mana, and little else. Due to the mountain not having a noticeable layer of mana surrounding it like the rooks’ usual projectiles, the mountain was allowed to pass directly through like a wagon laden with supplies.

The moment Jiran’s own attack shot off-course and slammed into his suit, two of the new defensive formations he had added activated. Had Jiran foreseen that his abilities would be what activated his defenses, he would have added in a countermeasure of Elemental Castigation to merely convert the energy back into mana, rendering it harmless. But the idea that his control of mana and skills outside his body would be sealed had never even crossed his mind.

He had done his best to program his formations in a way that would protect him without accidentally murdering any of his allies that happened to be standing nearby, which also meant they were far, far weaker than the fully-powered chakram, capable of killing beasts several tiers above him, that was now tearing those very formations apart at an atomic level.

The first defensive measure was a series of tiny pocket-like formations embedded in the outermost layers of his suit. As collimated plasma melted them, the mana within was released. It sprang free, simultaneously triggering every second pocket formation to do the same. Together, they created a thick, solid coating of mana that completely covered him. The Second half of the formations had a slightly different purpose; due to being melted, they responded by releasing mana converted into a wave of elemental ice that formed on top of the pure mana coating.

Unfortunately, whatever Jiran’s attacker had done to seal his ability to control mana outside his body was also affecting his formations. They weakened rapidly as the energy powering them was drained away, though they did buy him the moment he needed to save his life.

Jiran's instincts screamed bloody murder as the heated beam of elemental particles melted his suit like wax in a firestorm. Foresight and panic mingled, causing his perception of time to balloon until the world crawled forward in slow motion. With the advance of the heat came blistering pain as his skin and muscles began to boil. The elemental energy was his, and every facet of his instincts knew he should be able to reclaim that energy into mana and use it as he wished. But the impossibly powerful barrier denied him that reality. Only once the energy entered his body and did its damage could he reclaim it, which he did, but it was a losing battle.

Most of his Manabody had been pooled internally to remain hidden from the Graymin and his instinctual activation of Oneness gave him the mental acuity and reaction speed to survive by getting the hell out of the way.

He ducked but his body responded strangely, as though something had crawled inside him to physically block the movements of his muscles. Still, he managed to get mostly out of the way but a hard and cold object pulled against his neck, jerking him to a stop and triggering an uncomfortable torture that writhed inside him. With his legs already bent, he jumped to the side and felt himself be pulled in a short circle as though he were tied to a stone by a short rope. Thankfully, he left the incinerating beam before collapsing due to his melted muscles no longer functioning.

His aura spread out gingerly, not daring to go far enough to press against the mysterious barrier and be drained away. It revealed that he was still on fire and that the top half of his suit was completely gone. Since mana was still working within the confines of his body, he went to work battling the sticky plasma burrowing its way inside of him. He released a blast of Elemental Castigation in the form of frost powerful enough that it froze him stiff. A heartbeat later, Mana Confluence filled him with regenerating energy, restoring his muscles, nerves, skin, eyes, and hair.

With the restoration, came new awarenesses, and even more demanding of his attention, new agony. There was indeed something inside his body halting the natural movements of his muscles, several somethings in fact. The collar he could now clearly feel wrapped around his neck had grown six fingers of hooked, barbed bone that had sliced their way into his neck and were burrowing deeper inside of his chest with each passing second. They didn’t appear designed to kill, as they released a continual healing energy that kept him alive, if in a state of intense torment.

Jiran immediately activated the mana inside the portion of his brain responsible for sensing pain. Three of his minds went to work attempting to halt the progression of the terrifying fingers but it was futile as they were clearly made of materials far higher tier than himself. The rest of his focus was directed outward and he finally got a good look at what was going on around him. Attached to the collar around his neck, was a short glowing rope of flexible metal that led to a belt being worn by a mysterious figure in a dark robe with a deep shadowed cowl.

The only parts of the person he could see were his bony fingers that looked like they belonged to a malnourished middle-aged male and the hard line of his mouth that formed a disinterested frown. For a reason Jiran couldn’t even begin to fathom, he felt no sense of danger from the hooded man, despite Mana Omnis revealing a tier nine manapool simmering with untapped power. Even so, his anger spiked nearly out of control at the mere fact he was being collared like a slave for the second time in his life.

Without saying a word, the man raised his free hand and gently but firmly grabbed Jiran's shoulder, pulling him to his feet. Jiran could feel the synapses inside him at that moment being activated in the familiar manner of a Teleportation. When the bubble of mana appeared around them both, it instantly popped. The Teleportation wasn't the only thing to be disrupted as the upper half of the tier nine suddenly exploded into gore that painted the scenery behind him in a mess of crimson, splattering flesh.

With his death, the Manabody holding back the beasts faltered and hundreds of tier seven Graymin raced toward Jiran.

Despite the approaching death, Jiran nearly retched, but not because the bastard had been torn apart, it was because the belt the man wore had also stretched fingers of bone deep inside the tier nine’s body. The fingers smoked and sizzled, writhing in the air like worms, questing for the manapool they had just been buried inside of. One of the bones stabbed into an exposed chunk of the still-standing leg before its entire length flashed green and red. In the blink of an eye, the missing parts of the tier nine were regrown. With his clothes just as destroyed as the rest of him had been, Jiran saw the numerous glowing scars across the man's torso and face, all in the same pattern: That of the Imperial numeral three.

Three? Is that his rank or name?

The freshly revived man’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, clutching at his chest as the fingers of bone reburied themselves in his manapool. At the same time, his aura exploded outward, once more halting the Graymin from approaching.

The fingers within Jiran had stopped progressing once they reached where his manapool used to be. Of course, as a Remalon, the entire inside of his body was now considered a manapool so he was easily able to redirect his energies away from the fingers that greedily attempted to sup upon his energies.

Three spoke, his gravelly words almost too fast for Jiran’s comprehension, “Interesting, there's some kind of energy field hidden inside of you. It doesn’t appear to be the handiwork of the emperors as it was even powerful enough to slightly damage the tier thirteen bones of the morkork. How vexing. Dismiss the field so we may quit this place, there is much we must do.”

“How about no,” Jiran spat, his mouth twisting in a rictus of hatred. “Or, go fuck yourself. Whichever you prefer,” He dared not make a hasty move until he could think of a way out of the situation, but that didn’t mean he had any intention of being polite.

Three paid his words no mind. He slowly walked around Jiran while humming to himself. Over a few seconds, easily a hundred flashes of the man’s mana and aura snaked around Jiran, even as Forming was used to reconstruct his clothing, “Interesting, it appears to only activate when I attempt to directly manipulate you against your will. Well, no matter, I wasn't planning on hurting you from the beginning. Your pretty little blue-haired abomination, Oliviala, and your family on the other hand…”

The threat toward Mayalyn and Olive focused him like never before. His mana and aura were hard at work attempting to understand the morkork bones buried inside him. Each of his minds became a spear, sharpened and pointed at the cursed collar restraining him. The device exuded power far beyond his tier; he could neither damage nor manipulate its physical structure in any way. Now that his friends were being threatened, and knowing that tier nine’s were capable of attacking from very, very far away, Jiran took the plunge that he had been hesitant to resort to.

His mana slithered directly into a hole at the tip of one of the fingers. Clearly, they were designed to suck mana from their victims as a powerful force immediately attempted to wrest control of his energies. But just because the materials were higher-tier than him, didn’t mean the individual who loaded it with intent had a Molding skill that could stand up to his Mana Confluence.

There was not a single individual in the empire that could wrest Jiran’s mana from him against his will and his energies tore their way through the hollow chain of bones and directly into the collar around his neck. He didn’t stop there, his mana flooded into the rope connecting them which turned out to be more of the same material, as well as part of the complex formation that powered the entire device. Finally, upon reaching the belt around the tier nine’s waist, Jiran found what he was looking for. A tiny protrusion in the shape of a needle intended to draw blood and create the ability to control the formation. Jiran’s mana raced past the drop of crimson liquid and into the open air before zipping away on a synapse of the framework.

The few seemingly harmless motes of mana that vanished were loaded with deadly intent, and the moment they reached the buried formations that were their destinations, the world turned pure white as a series of tremendous explosions morphed the nearby landscape into a boiling cesspool of carnage. Expanding waves of force shredded the clouds far above while terraforming the mountains into pitted craters. The cacophonous thundering was heard for a hundred kilometers as the explosions triggered a chain reaction, releasing even more trapped, compressed gasses and elemental energies that eagerly joined the mayhem.

Jiran’s gravity bombs were not yet at the point of compressing particles to the point of fusion. Otherwise, the tier nine who calmly watched the devastation while protecting them both with his Manabody and Channeling might have actually been hurt. He blocked out the annoying racket and clicked his tongue in disappointment, “Impressive to pull that off while restrained by the morkork, but that's not enough to scratch someone like me. It was a good attack for your tier to be sure, but the concentration of mana was simply far too low. Now that you’ve seen the futility of struggling, it's time for you to surrender. Cooperate with us, or I'll kill your friends and family one at a time until you do.”

Unable to see beyond the shrouding darkness Three had erected, Jiran could only hope his plan had worked. Now that events had been set in motion, there were only two ways this would end and he only had to deal with a single pesky requirement to ensure he arrived at the better of those two options. His voice was calm, resigned, yet still carried a purposeful undertone of defiance, “No. I'll never help you like that. If you hurt a single one of them, my grudge will become deeper than the Murinth Ocean. If it's not clear yet, even your precious morkork can’t control my mana. If you push me too far, I’ll kill myself.”

Three shrugged, “A foolish choice. There are many ways to sustain your existence. You'll come around once you see how I slowly pull your loved ones apart piece by piece. It is a sadness that the blue-haired one is only tier four so she won't last as long. I'll probably finish with her after… a moon? We'll see,” Only a slight twitch of his lips betrayed his frustration at the situation.

Jiran could barely control his voice through the rage, but everything depended on leading the conversation where it needed to go. He could not fail, or everything and everyone he loved would be lost, “Do you really have time for that? There's an easier way to get my help, you fucking lunatic.”

Three raised his brows in mild surprise, “I'm listening.”

With a deep breath, Jiran gambled with all their fates, “Let's become allies. A mutual contract between us that you won't hurt me or my friends, and I'll help you with a specific number of tasks. let’s say ten,” Jiran used mana to freeze the muscles in his face, maintaining his expression while he waited an agonizingly long two seconds for a response.

“You're a very frustrating child. Why didn't you tell me that was an option from the start? I do hate threatening the weak, though doubt not that I would have carried out anything required to ensure your cooperation. Not to mention forcing me to endure the tender resurrection of the morkork… Fine, let us be allies from here on out.”

Jiran could tell the man meant his words and a vicious, toothy grin split his face. Torn between the desire to laugh and cry, his voice came out strained with emotion, “Perfect. I was really worried I wouldn't be able to convince you. Now that I'm safe, we can finish this game.”

“What nonsense are you spewing now?” Three opened his mouth to say something else but never got the chance as a tidal wave of challenger density raced into Jiran like a flash flood released from a dam. His entire body was ripped apart and remade while Three could do nothing but watch in abject horror as he assumed Jiran really had found some way to kill himself.

Through the onslaught of sensations, Jiran could only distantly perceive the world around him. He knew someone, somewhere, was shaking uncontrollably, though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out who it was. A moment later, his blocked pain receptors were remade and a torrent of misery and bliss swept away what little of his focus remained.

* * *

Three, concerned for his charge’s safety, attempted to heal Jiran but his mana was rebuffed as though one of the Apostles themselves resided within the boy. Once Jiran’s seizures halted, Three gingerly picked him up, relieved that his guess about the strange energy field not activating had been accurate. With the boy hanging limply over his shoulder, Three took to the sky, not willing to attempt another Teleportation with that terrifying field still dormant within the boy. He was beyond eager to return to the Cardinal so the excruciating morkork could be passed onto another.

A strange sound to his side drew his attention. He looked, finding himself truly surprised for the third time that day as he spotted a three-meter-long, shimmering scarlet line in the air. What truly alarmed him about it, was that his aura and Mana Sight detected absolutely nothing. Not wanting to take any chances, he launched himself and Jiran away at full speed, despite the damage such rapid movement would cause to the boy.

His instincts, honed from hundreds of years of intense battles against the undead, screamed at him that something was terribly wrong. Looking over his shoulder, he found the line in space was following right behind him, worse still, it widened, sliding open like a gaping maw to reveal a sea that churned with an abundance of ominous ruby-red energy. A powerful suction tore at his skin and bones, pulling him toward that fissure. Three knew in every fiber of his being that if he failed to escape now, there would be no second chances.

For the first time since taking the oaths and becoming a sworn hand of the Voice, he panicked. He unleashed a Channeling several times stronger than the explosions Jiran had unleashed moments ago. He used the shockwave of his own attack to carry them several times faster than their previous speed. He felt Jiran’s body tearing apart and he tried to heal the boy but he wasn’t nearly fast enough. Ruby-red liquid blasted out of the portal, forming a massive blurred fist that snatched them from the sky at a speed Three couldn’t even comprehend. In the next instant, they were both pulled into the portal which promptly closed and winked from existence.